


Maybe, I

by sinnabonka



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, They were co-workers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-11-27 06:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20943605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnabonka/pseuds/sinnabonka
Summary: One night alone in the office, couple (lots) of drinks at "Bebop" and this time it doesn't take them 6,000 years to recognize their feelings for each other, but they still don't go too fast for it.





	1. Few drinks too much

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there,  
Hope you like the story as much as I do while writing it, maaaan writing about drunk adventures of those two is lots of fun.
> 
> Tags may change along the way, be aware.
> 
> Please say a word, I would really appreciate it!

An open-plan office gets silent and empty after working hours, so it becomes the favorite time of the day for Az. It’s been a week here already. Everyone’s left, some girl asked him if he would like to join for beer, but he answered with a soft no.

The truth is, he likes the place, and doesn’t want their uptight and not very refined boss think any less of him, so can’t leave yet. A random guy from the street, he should be happy he got the job in the first place, and so he is - works harder than needed, fills in all the papers, writes all the emails, sends all the packages. Anything to impress the higher management.

It’s been a long day and it’s not over yet, so Azira feels blessed for no one waiting for him at home, for him having no one to make excuses to. Parents don’t count, they wouldn’t notice even if he didn’t show up for another week.

He grabs another pile of documents, gets a sip of his already cold – as ever – cocoa and looks out the window. It rains. When doesn’t it here, in London? Such days make him miss Rome a little, it was sunnier there. But that’s the only good thing which comes to his mind about the place.

The world around is calm, and Azira is calm too. He likes his new job, and it doesn’t matter what parents say about working for corporation. He is absolutely fine being just one of a thousand, he would be comfortable even being one of a million.

He had his chance to shine bright, but it burnt a lot, so now he feels better in the dark corner.

And being lonely he doesn’t mind as well, he’s used to it now.

Suddenly - the door slams open and Azira jumps up of surprise, leaps of the depth of his thoughts. It’s almost seven, no one is supposed to be around by that time. But once the person steps inside the room, it actually makes a lot of sense.

_“Wait?!”_ Anthony, the manager, storms in, shouting at invisible victim on another end of the phone. “Patience…is not something I’m known for, Gabe. Just like our client!”

He fixes his look at Azira for a moment, dealing with the slightest confusion, and the next second runs further. The door creaks closed behind his back, the muted shouting still can be heard from the place Azira’s desk is situated.

He takes a deep breath and opens the next file. He has a job to do and none of this is his business.

Azira couldn’t say he and Anthony were on the outs, but the man just seemed like someone to be hard to deal with. Impulsive, way too straight-forward, having a hard time holding his tongue – he is pretty darn good at his job, but definitely sucks as a person. Or so they say.

The voice in the corner room goes down, and now there are quick nervous footstep around the place. The door opens again, right when Az is done with the first part of the file.

“Oi!” Anthony narrows his eyes trying to remember the name.

“Azira.”

“Yes! Az, perfect, come here.” Anthony invites him with a wide gesture.

He gets up, looks back at his desk and with a shaky hand straightens the pile on the corner.

_Okay, Az, this is your chance to let him remember your name and see what you are worth,_ he steps into the corner office and sighs: _Don’t fuck this up._

He enters and closes the door behind himself.

Azira could swear the office of this man should look as a complete mess. He’s chaotic, he’s loud, he moves and talks too much. But actually, the office is way too clean and well-organized. Azira finds himself gazing at dozens of paper piles at the window, all sorted and signed, with a short side notes on the stickers. _Of course, it’s alphabetical_, he smirks.

“Did you want me for something, mister Crowley?” Azira squeezes the most friend-making smile out of himself. It’s not hard, it’s in his blood.

“I sure did.” Anthony looks up at him over wire-rimmed glasses and pushes the chair away from the table with his foot. “Take a sit. And Anthony will do.”

Azira takes the offered sit and waits. It takes Anthony a full minute to remember of his existence and look at him again, this time with a fixed, too well known all over the company smile, the smile that has nothing to do with joy or happiness.

It serves him well, that’s for sure, but his eyes have this predatory expression, and it outs him.

As if he was a snake looking at a little rabbit, which forgets itself and hops too close.

Azira blinks the lost and dreamy look off his face, when Anthony pushes a red lock off his forehead.

“One of our project owners can’t make it to the meeting tomorrow, he’s not in a good shape.” He smirks. “This is an important client, fucking up will cost us a fortune.”

“Can’t we postpone? Is he sick?”

“It’s one way to put it, but I wouldn’t, definitely.” Anthony spins around on the chair. “More likely Gabe is stuck in Thailand with a new… girlfriend.” He waves his hand in uncertain gest. “Whatever. We can’t postpone, Az, and you happened to be the only one available at such hour. Actually, what are you doing here? Doesn’t matter, yhm, I could definitely use your help with presentation.”

“Sure.” Without a single second of hesitation answers Azira.

Anthony nods and smiles at him. This smile is real, though still feels like breeze on the bare skin.

His phone starts to ring and the irritated expression reappears on his face.

“I’ll send you everything necessary.” He takes his phone and accepts the call. “And please close the door behind you.”

Azira gets up and walks away. Well, that was definitely** not** what he expected it to be.

_Close the door behind you, pfff, right_.

He rolls his eyes and falls onto his chair. This was not as scary, as he thought, but it also was not such a breakthrough. It’s the first normal conversation they had, aside from that short chat right before strict lady from HR had picked up the interview and actually hired him.

The icon on dashboard informs that the email is already there. Azira clicks on it and grunts of frustration. It’s something about twenty files in it, and he wants to believe each of them has less than three pages, but can’t - when he opens the first one, it has twenty-five.

He sighs and goes for another cup of cocoa as the night has turned out to be long.

When he’s back from kitchen, he notices the icon of mailbox blinking again and clicks on it. _More files? Something special, maybe a whole book to go through tonight?_ That wouldn’t have surprised him, unlike did the actual text. It’s a short message: “I get off at 10, we could grab a beer and talk shit about Gabriel.”

Azira’s smile gets bigger and he gains what it takes to throw himself into work for the next three hours.

It’s a lot of slides created, much more of pages read, some sweets disappeared from the drawer. The whole time Anthony seems to be on endless calls with foreign offices.

The darkness falls in unnoticed and smooth way; one second, it’s twilight, the other it’s completely black outside, and only streetlights allow one to see anything further than his nose.

“And…done.” Says aloud Azira and puts the last dot in the script for presentation. He happily clicks on save button and rubs his eyes. He’s so damn tired, but yet so satisfied with his work, he just hopes the boss – _Anthony, it will do_ – will be satisfied with him as well. He sends an email and waits.

The room is silent for straight five minutes and Azira wonders if Anthony didn’t fall asleep in the meantime. He glances at the watch, it’s quarter to ten. Perfect timing it is.

Suddenly, he hears quick footsteps and the door opens.

“Good job, Az.” He smiles and takes off his glasses. “I’ve sent it to client, se we are good. Coming?”

“Sure.” Azira eyes his desk and frowns. The whole situation feels weird.

“We could grab a beer in the bar at the basement... But God, I could really eat something. Like a horse!” he buttons his jacket up and blinks at Azira. “Maybe some too-late-for-dinner-too-early-for-lunch meal? How does it sound?”

“Sounds lovely.”

He grabs his coat and follows Anthony out, turning off the lights on a go.

While they wait for elevator, Azira nervously sways heels to toes, and Anthony clicks something on his phone. The awkward silence lasts not long, as when they get into the elevator, it’s not silent anymore_. It must be joke_, thinks Az, because he can’t find any other explanation, why would anyone put such a boring music on in such a small enclosed space, where people who barely know each other have to spend some time. Why can’t it be something with lyrics at least, so you can sing along in your head and not think about what should you say to make it less awkward?

_Ding!_

The elevator door opens and Az sighs in relief.

As they get out of the building, Anthony gets a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights up. The mint smoke gets into Azira’s eyes and he rubs them again, wipes a tear off. As a former smoker, quitted not that long ago, he still feels uncomfortably weak around cigarettes. But the mint though.

Anthony seems not to notice it, breathes in and holds it in his lungs.

“Do you feel like celebrating our little victory or more like bringing down Gabriel and shit?”

“Is it possible to go for both?”

“May need more time.” Anthony walks over the cig butt and breathes freely. Then laughs to himself and looks up into the sky.

The downpour catches them around the corner. They stay at the bus stop a little, but it doesn’t seem to stop any time soon. The clock on the building starts to strike, Anthony speaks with the tenth tick: “Fine, no point in waiting.” He shivers. “We’ll get wet either way.”

“Maybe I’m better be off now…” Az watches the approaching bus. Of course, it’s the one which takes him home.

“Is there someone waiting for you?” Anthony looks at him. And gets some color, as understands how the question can be interpreted. He clears his throat. “I mean, if you have nothing better to do tonight, don’t you think spending some time with your boss is not the worst idea? An integration is important, at least Michael form HR says so.”

Azira hesitates. It’s all written on his face, right in the curve of his brow.

“Alright.” He sighs. “Alright, I’ll stay.”

Crowley’s face lights up and he blinks at him. The bus pulls out.

“Splendid! And now we should decide, what place corresponds to our goals. Have any ideas?”

“No, sir, I’m not from here.” Azira shrugs.

The lightning strikes and the rain increases. Anthony pops up the collar on his jacket.  
“Well then…Just follow me, I know the area. And I believe I know just the perfect place.”

It takes them about ten minutes to get to the place. It’s hidden in the alley; the sign saying “Bebop” is slanted and some lightbulbs are off. The place feels underground. It feels like that kind of place where you can get any chemical product you wish and gain a love connection you need.

Two skinhead boys stay by the entrance and once they come by, one whispers something to Anthony and extends a hand. There’s something in his fist and Anthony shakes his head and moves on. He pushes the door and waits for Azira to come in.

The club welcomes them with flickering light and loud music.

“Since we are here” shouts Anthony, “we get something better to drink – and – it will be my honor to show you real London.”

The music is too loud, the lights could definitely give anyone a seizure by flickering so randomly and quickly. As the door closes behind them, Azira staggers back. “I should be in the office tomorrow by nine. Not sure if this is…yhm, appropriate. I am better off.”

“Don’t worry, your boss won’t mind.” Anthony blinks at him. “Intelligence sources tell me, that he won’t be in the office before midday as well. Trust me…” he bumps him with his shoulder, “…it will be fun! Don’t spoil it, Az.”

They look at each other for a moment. Az physically feels how he doesn’t fit it, and wonders how come that this man does. “Bebop” looks like a place where people socialize, and he doesn’t look like enjoying it. But still he does, shakes his head to the music and the smile on Crowley’s face looks real. And something in his eyes has changed, when they got in.

_I am so going to regret this_, thinks Azira, but only nods to Anthony instead.

They get to the bar and bartender greets Anthony with a huge smile and two burning shot glasses. Just like that, right from the start.

“For you and your friend.” Guy gives him the meaningful look. “On the house.”

They get their shots and clink the glasses. Az swallows, not sure if he’s ready. He finds out pretty soon, that he definitely is not.

“Here’s to a good job done.” Cheers Anthony and chugs his drink.

The flames warm up his throat, and Az feels how the tension floats away. _What’s so wrong with two coworkers spending some quality time together after a long and hard day, right?_

He puts the glass back on the counter and looks around. He feels dizzy, his throat is on fire, but music doesn’t bother him that much anymore. He feels how his shoulders relax and how the wrinkle on his forehead disappears, taking away the fear of not belonging. Nothing of these matters.

“It must be hard.” Anthony watches Az closely with his dark eyes. “I mean, moving to London, starting a new job. No friends around.”

“Not that bad.” Az answers, but the same second understands he’s been lying. It’s the same lie he’s been repeating mostly to himself, but also to people around since he moved to Rome firstly, then to London. It’s hard, and now he feels this emptiness inside.

The sadness somehow shows on his face and the conversation changes the subject.

Crowley snaps his fingers and another two drinks magically appear in front of them.

The world starts turning around a little quicker, and Az hears echo of his own voice: “I never have though my first week in company will end up in place like that. And, well, getting drunk with my boss.”

“I hope that’s not disappointment I can hear.” Crowley smiles.

And they drink again, and they lick off salt from the wrist, and they bite a lime.

There’s no clock on the wall, no window, so the time doesn’t exist in this place. It slowly drips down as tar or rapidly flows as a stream, it’s hard to say.

“I had no idea you could be fun.” Az laughs and pats Anthony on shoulder. “All the things people talk about you in the office…Uf! But you’re quite all right!”

“Don’t mention it in the office. If they knew, it would be problematic to... you know, _be the boss_.”

Azira stops counting shots after the one he gets out of someone’s belly button. Before there definitely was tequila, vodka, maybe some rum. He pays for three, Anthony buys some more, one is definitely granted by bartender again, another one’s sent by a stranger.

And that last one Anthony forbids him to drink.

“_Believe me_, you don’t want that one.” Anthony hiccups and spills the drink on the floor.

Azira is offended at some point, but forgets about the whole situation as soon as they head to the middle of the dance floor. Surprisingly, Anthony has friends on every step. A girl with green hair blows him a kiss and they both genuinely laugh.

“Do you come here often?” asks Az, or he thinks he does, as he’s not sure if words come out of his mouth, he doesn’t hear himself anymore.

“That’s my place.” Anthony gets a drink from some guy and takes a big gulp. “I come here when I need to restart. And today is the day.”

This is the moment when Az doesn’t control himself anymore, he gets outside of his body and watches it dancing in the middle of the crowd. He doesn’t feel awkward anymore, “Bebop” does a thing and he feels more confident in every move than ever. It seems like he finally fits in somehow.

During his out-of-body experience, Azira notices a weird look on Anthony’s face, while he watches him dancing. But it disappears a second after, and Az assures himself it’s nothing. Anthony is twice as drunk as himself, and _God! he is drunk as fuck_.

At some point he feels firm hands on his hip, hot breath on the back of his neck. He keeps his eyes closed, though his mouth open, he breathes deeply, feels how his pulse synchronizes with music beat, feels the sweat dripping all over his back. Music is too loud, it fills him in to the brim.

There’s nothing else but music around him and in him.

He knows the song, Emmit Fenn has always been his weak spot, and now it hits right on target.

The hands are gone now, the hot breath is gone, it’s only music and all of those wet bodies around.

Azira opens his eyes and sees Anthony staring at him, eyeing him greedily.

He somehow gets himself another drink, some of it spills onto his shirt, while he dances, but most of it burns his mouth out at the end. The whole night feels like an extremely quick slide show, it consists of different faces, locations, songs, drinks. What stays constant, is Anthony’s black eyes across from him. And drunken smoothness of time passing by.

He blinks and they are back at the counter. He blinks again - and Anthony sits next to him and whispers him in the ear_. He simply can’t shout anymore_, thinks Azira and laughs.

“This evening is nice, but….” whispers Crowley like from the different dimension.”…we should drink some more!”

Az finds himself distracted, being all eyes, not paying attention to words coming out of Anthony’s mouth. And he makes a huge effort to make himself to.

“…Gabe is a piece of ass.” Anthony rolls his eyes. “He’s the stupidest hunk I’ve ever seen in my life. Much muscle, little brain. That bugger can’t walk straight while on his phone, how he can be responsible for the whole project? Thousands of pounds!” he grabs Az by shoulder. “And they would be gone, if it wasn’t you, Az!”

“You asked for help and I helped.” Az finds it complicated to express himself clearly. “Not a big deal…”

“Huge deal! Enormous!” Anthony throws his hands in the air. “How many of new starters are there in the office after eight hours? It’s only you!”

“It just means that I have nothing better to do.”

“Nonono.” Anthony sighs, closes his eyes with the hand. After a moment looks at Azira again. “Listen. No, really listen. In our business a good brain is a rare thing. Most of those guys in cubicles are like sheep. They do what they are told to, they turn the page, they stamp it, they go on. But you…you…”

Anthony leans his forehead on Az’s chest and slowly breathes out. He puts both his hands on Azira’s tights and slowly slides them up, making him tremble, as with cold. Az puts his hands onto Antony’s and moves them down to his knees.

“You were saying.” Reminds Azira and looks around, hoping to see bartender, to see anyone. Somehow, he feels himself really anxious in the room full of drunk and almost unconscious people, and the help is nowhere to come from now.

_It gets more awkward and ridiculous with every second_, thinks Azira and pats boss on his back.

This man, who took him in underground club and has drunk like a gallon of anything flammable, it’s not the Anthony Crowley he knows and not the one who hired him, who makes enormous deals and meets presidents on their vacations with an effortless smile. That’s definitely not the one who leaves employees in tears after the chitchat in the corner office.

But Azira, frankly speaking, is too drunk to figure out if he actually minds it.

They sit like this for some time, before people start to leave in small groups.

“Mister Crowley.” Azira tries to sit Anthony back down and shakes him by shoulder. “I think it’s enough fun for today, don’t you agree? Do you have your address written down somewhere?”

Anthony straightens, gets an empty glass and looks inside it. But the empty glass remains empty.

“Stop calling me that.” He hiccups and tilts his head back. “I don’t need address, I am not leaving.”

Bartender checks out on them, but Az just nods at him and gently smiles.

He has no idea, how come, that for last hour at least they two were in the same state of drunkenness, but somehow Anthony is wasted and Az remembers the address he moved to only a week ago. Some magic had a place, indeed. He gently slams boss on the cheek.

“I’m calling a cab, Anthony, give me your address.”

“I told you, I am not going anywhere.”

“You are.”

“Watch me. I. Am. Not.”

They stare each other in the eye. And well, Anthony doesn’t look like lying. Nor joking.

“You are so drunk.” Azira sighs.

“Yes, I am aware. Your point?” Anthony chuckles and waves at bartender. “Diego, one tequila for me and for my precious friend right here.”

Az shakes his head and glances at mysterious Diego with a strict “no” in his eyes. _You dare,_ the look says, _and I will leave this wasted body at the counter and walk away on my two._

Fortunately, Anthony forgets about damned tequila pretty quick. Instead, he gets interested in his pack of cigarettes and the lighter which he has hard time using properly.

“Sorry, not allowed here.” Casually polishing the glass, says bartender.

Az takes cigs and puts them back into Crowley’s pocket.

“Oi, whatcha doing?”

“I might just slap you in the face and find that stupid address in history of your uber.” Az clenches his teeth. “But you are the boss. So_ please_ help me out here.”

Anthony smiles tricky at him and puts both his hands on the shoulders.

Azira’s seen like two dozen of different expression on this man’s face tonight, a dozen of expressions of his eyes. There was emptiness, coldness, curiosity, interest and so many more. But nothing like this.

Azira doesn’t breathe in, nor out, and one clear thought fills out his whole skull: _I am so fucked._

Anthony’s eyes are dark, almost black, fogged over. He’s definitely struggling to focus them on Az’s face, but still tries, looks into his face, moves closer and closer, so Az feels the drunk breath on his lips.

“I might just kiss you.” He giggles and squints. “That would definitely make you shut up, wouldn’t it?”

Az freezes for a moment, chocked with his own tongue. The blood rushes from all the parts to his body up to his face. He turns red and stares at Anthony all shaken. It lasts maybe a little longer then he thinks it does, as Anthony opens his eyes again and stares at him, waiting.

This time it almost looks like he sees him.

“Give me your phone.” Az finally pulls himself together. “I’ll call you an uber.”

“Only if it takes us to your place.”

Azira rolls his eyes.

“You are an unbelievable pain in the arse.” Az allows himself to put a hand into boss’s pocket and take out his phone. It’s locked, of course it is! He sighs. “Could you make it any harder?”

Anthony brushes through his longish hair and tries to fix a man ban on the back. Seems like a next mission impossible for Ethan Hunt, as the mess on Anthony’s head remains and even increases.

“Tell me your password.”

“Nope.” With a popping ‘p’ and the end.

“Give me your hand then.” Az grabs his wrist and presses the thumb to a fingerprint reader. Phone blinks and turns on. “Ugh, finally!”

He looks through all the application, searches for any address mentioned more than once in the database, opens maps. Anthony at the same time makes every possible effort to keep himself in upright position. He’s also searching through his pockets, while Az mumbles something and clicks.

“Okay, mister, we have two options. Be a nice troublemaker, choose the right one.”

“The second one.” Surrenders Anthony and frowns.

Azira confirms the order and with a smug smile holds out boss’s phone back to him.

“Thank you, dearest.” He pats him on shoulder. “And now we leave.”

They wait for a cab outside. The sun is almost up, the sky starts to get pink, the air gets warmer. Azira shivers, tries to rub himself into his thin shirt, but that helps nothing. Anthony gets cigarette pack, gives it to Az and frowns - he starts to sober up and seems not to like it.

“Here, hold it.” He continues to search through his pockets, empties them on the sidewalk at some point. “Where’re damn keys?”

“Check the inside pockets.” Suggests Az.

“Naaah, not there.” He checks all pockets one by one once again anyway. “I’ve lost my keys.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I ssswear.” Hisses Anthony, showing that he’s cold too. He puts a cig into his mouth and light it up on his second try. He breathes in the smoke and tilts his head back.

“Will there be anyone to let you in?”

“Nope.” Again, with that popping out ‘p’. “I can’t come back.”

Azira tries to think this through. He feels like crap, his tongue tasks like crap, his thoughts are tangled together, thick and slimy, they wiggle on in his drunk skull. What options are there?

He could wait for a cab with Anthony, let cabbie drive him back home, see tomorrow how this will turn out for him. Not the best one, but still would do. There’s a serious risk, that boss won’t get in, will get mad and fire him the very next day. But what is the other option?

Azira glances at Anthony, who is sitting on a sidewalk with a cig in the corner of his mouth. Eyes closed, a slight smile curves his lips.

When the cab arrives, Anthony gets on the backseat and throws a cig away out of the window.

“Okay, lad, just take me home.” He sighs and leans his head against the window. “Fuck it.”

Suddenly – back door opens and Az also gets in. He tries not to look at Anthony, not to let him say anything what could change his mind, and just tells him the address. The man, who later introduces himself as Thomas, assures him that it’s not a big deal and of course they can change the destination, but it – of course – will cost.

“As every damn thing in this world.” Smiles Az, watching Anthony sleeping with his mouth open, forehead pressed against the cold glass.


	2. What the storm brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back together to Az's place could never end up any good. We all knew it right from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!  
I hope you still enjoy the story. Thanks for every and each kind word, you are blessings!

The house looks like some Tudor-ish style mansion, which gets Crowley by surprise, but not for long. He was sleeping during their ride, so is not sure what part of London they are in, but at this point it doesn’t bother him at all. He throws a bill at driver, without checking how much it is, and follows Azira to the porch.

They giggle as teenagers, all drunk, making their way upstairs in the house full of adults after the great time. Well, the only thing that is not completely correct is their age. They are not teenagers anymore, it’s been a long time since they became adults themselves, but hell this definitely feels like coming back from one of those house-parties, hosted at rich kid’s mansion. They giggle, because they both are completely messes. It will feel awfully in the morning, but now it’s lots of fun.

Azira shushes at Anthony, who tries to walk straight, but definitely fails both this and keeping it quiet. He stumbles at stairs and falls, burst in laugher while trying to get up.

Az tries to do a straight face, he has to be the responsible one, he’s less drunk, but…_yeah._

“My god, Anthony, please get it together!” he helps boss to get up. “We really should sneak into my bedroom in secret and preferably before my dad will hear us and…”

“Secrets? I love secrets.” He giggles again. “No one knows, but I always dreamt to be a spy. No! Secret agent. Double-o-nine, Crowley. Anthony Crowley.”

“Well, it’s your time to shine then. But _please_ keep going.”

They take a few more steps up and Anthony turns to Az with a confusion in his eyes: “I didn’t know you live with parents.”

“I don’t…” he shakes his head. “I mean, I didn’t. Had to move back recently. Not for long. I hope.”

They stare at each other for a second and then go further up in silence. Az already can see the door of his bedroom, it feels like final stretch and they are about to cross the line, but right then Crowley turns left and enters the huge household library. Dozens of shelves, literally thousands of books; the room feels dusty and cramped. There’re heavy curtains that are shut tight, so it’s all dark there.

“Whaaa..” Anthony can’t take a word out of himself of surprise. “Whose are these?”

“Er… Mostly mine.” Azira hesitates between starting the old good proud speech about his treasures and taking his boss out of the room without a word. The choice is made for him, as Crowley takes a book from the shelf and leafs through it, then puts it back and goes to the next shelf.

“This is gold.” Anthony opens the last page of the book he’s holding and reads. “Those all are pretty old. Not first editions though, just old and in a very good state. Impressive collection!”

“Thank you?” Azira gets a book away from him. “We definitely can talk about my books at some point later, but now we’re better go and get some rest before that presentation.”

“Presentation. Right.” Anthony’s face gets serious. He falls out that sweet cradle he got himself into with all the alcohol. Reality hits hard. They are not teenagers, they have a work to do in like four hours, he’s not a secret agent either, he’s Anthony Crowley, the manager, he has a lot of work tomorrow, because of this dork Gabriel, who…

He drifts in his thoughts (which he didn’t have even a second ago), like a nice little boat on the lake.

He pulls himself together and looks up at Az.

And they both freeze, as they hear footsteps approaching.

The footsteps are right behind the door, when Azira grabs Anthony by shoulders and whispers: “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.” His eyes are wide and begging. “Are you with me?”

“Ngk.” Crowley opens his lips with uncertain, puzzled look on his face. Multiple questions are rushing inside his mind. “I…”

But it’s too late, the door creaks open and the same second Az presses himself to Crowley. With his chest, but also with his lips. The kiss comes out dry and smells like all they’ve drunken, but Anthony finds himself tilting his head gently and caressing Az’s cheeks with the thumb of his hand, which somehow got in there in meanwhile. They part and it takes him some time to catch his breath.

“Azira, darling, you never mentioned we have guests.” The woman in a pink see-through robe, messed up from sleep blond hair and an uncomfortable smile on, puts her hands on her chest and disapprovingly shakes her head: “Where are your manners?”

Azira steps toward her and puts the best smile he’s capable of at the moment.

“Mom, this is Anthony. Anthony, it’s my mom.”

“Nice to meet you, Anthony.” She reaches out her hand. “And it’s Tris, not mom.”

“My pleasure.” Crowley gently shakes her hand and leans down to kiss it.

The whole situation looks like awkward replica of one of Antonio Lonza’s paintings, but Az finds nothing fun in the whole situation. He watches Anthony and Tris smiling at each other.

_Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe she won’t even bother to ask._

But no, Crowley might be caught by her charm, but Az knows Beatris Fell far too good to believe she could loose and opportunity to embarrass him even once in her life. She knows how to hurt him the worst, and with a sly smile she takes a lock of ash blond hair off her forehead and asks: “Who’s that gentlemen and why are you hiding him from us, my dear?”

Crowley keeps back the nervous short laugh, which is ready to burst out of him, but the woman stares directly at him with her even brighter blue eyes, then Az’s, and they say_: surprise me, I bet anything you could not. _Anthony will be damned, if he loses to this lady. So, he clears his throat.

“Well, I am Az’s b…”

“Boyfriend!” shouts Azira with some kind of hysterical note in his voice and the same second grabs his hand, presses himself closer and grants the most fake smile Beatris Fell has ever seen. He gives Anthony the appealing look and squeezes his hand. “I’m not hiding him, why on Earth would I? But if you excuse us, mom, we are very tired, and we have work tomorrow...today, actually… so, you know…”

Her smile gets softer, though her eyes are still examining them with very close attention: “You should have thought about your work when you decided to go get drunk on Thursday, my boy, so silly of you. I bet your _devilish boss_ wouldn’t appreciate your…”

“Devilish?”

“It will be fine, mom, I swear. But we really should go.”

Crowley with confused expression on his face switches his look from Azira to stunning Beatris and back, he somehow manages to stop staring at their hands together, but he still feels the heat, still feels the crazy heartbeat echoing in his neck, still feels he’s too drunk to understand the situation.

“Okay, sweetheart.” She caresses son’s check with her hand. “Good night to you. See you at breakfast, Anthony, Greg will be happy to meet you.”

She closes her robe and leaves with little flames in her eyes.

_Oh, Greg will be so happy to hear the story, she’s definitely waking him up right now._

They finally get to the bedroom and Azira closes the door behind as they step in. He breathes out heavily, before turning around and dealing with the whole situation he put himself into with his own hands. He hears Crowley’s slow steps and closes his eyes. _What do I have to do now?_

Anthony looks around the bedroom. It’s small, in beige and aqua blue tones, the dark floor, the bed covered with graphite grey plaid. And lots of book all over the place, of course. He takes a few steps and stops in front of the huge painting on the wall.

It’s a replica, for sure, but anyway it leaves him breathless.

The stormy sea is dark and foggy, a huge wave approaches and tilts the ship, almost turns it over. Another ship was not that lucky, the wreckage slowly goes underwater in the foreground. The force of nature can’t be curbed, indeed. Crowley can imagine the crew running back and forth, screaming, the captain shouting some orders, everyone being cold, salty down to the bones, the skin dark brown of the aggressive sun in open sea, the wet ropes slipping out of their hands.

There’s panic all over the deck, there’s no hope for them. This feeling enters his own heart.

But the fate of the ship is the only thing that is actually terrifying on the whole piece. There’s hurricane at the sea, however the colors and the emptiness of it makes it calm. Crowley looks at huge waves, the darkness of the rain clouds, the clear sky somewhere far away, which promises that the good day is about to come, the sun will shine again. And the only one bad day won’t matter anymore.

He sobered up a bit with the whole meeting the parent thing and a kiss (_The kiss though, what was that about?_), but still feels dizzy and thirsty as hell, it feels like Sahara in his mouth. And there’s a sea on the painting, a lot of water. He swallows and his throat closes for a moment.

“Listen…” The weak voice breaks at the end, Az clears his throat. Anthony turns his head to him and gives the slightest smile he has. “I know you didn’t ask for this.” He sits down on the bed and shrugs. “And I am so sorry, mister Crowley, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s Anthony, how many times should I repeat?”

He falls back on the bed and closes his eyes. The window is open and cold morning wind comes through it, which feels like sea breeze, like the one from the painting. The wind of the stormy sea, Anthony could swear he felt the rocking. Or maybe it’s the different kind of waves he feels. He turns his head to Azira and watches his back going up and down slowly, as he breathes. The first rays of rising sun color the room in all shades of orange, it feels warm and ridiculously comfy on that bad, so Crowley almost falls asleep, watching sunlight playing with Azira’s silver curls.

“This night is just like your painting.” Whispers Anthony, eyes on the wall.

“How come?”

“You may think it’s nothing but a disaster, you may wonder, how hard will it be for us to work together after everything that happened today,” he exhales and continues in a soft voice, “but the thing is, that after the storm, one more sunny day always comes up. The wreckage will sink, but the sea will stay the same. And it’s not the first time someone is drowning out here, it happens all the time.”

“Your point is that something like that happens at every step, do I understand correctly?”

“Not quiet, angel.” Smirks Crowley.

_Angel?_ they both think at the same moment.

“My point is that tomorrow is a new day and it will bring something good.” Anthony yawns and a short laugh comes out. “I mean, the new day will come when we wake up, right?”

Azira looks at the painting asking himself a question, how is that possible that he has never thought about this painting this way. It’s been here since he was a teen, but is just never occurred to him, that the tragedy of sinking ship is not the center of the plot. That author never intended on showing the drama of the storm, but quiet opposite. This story indeed is about the miracle of a new day after.

Anthony’s question interrupts his thoughts:

“Why did you tell her I am your boyfriend?”

The silence fills the room, it keeps cold hands on Azira’s throat.

“I…er...” he nervously giggles, after a pause. “I panicked!”

“Well you are pretty instable then.” Anthony smiles. “You could talk about it, you know? I am so wasted, I won’t remember a word out of it tomorrow.”

“It’s just…You’re my boss, if I told her, she would assume I am messing with my boss again, and that’s not something I am ready to deal with right now. She’s alright with my sexual life, thought.”

“Messing with your boss _again_, huh?”

“That’s a long story.”

“Well, lucky us, having all the time of the word till that stupid meeting with Hastur Inc. we have.” Anthony laughs and turns on the left side and puts both hands under his cheek.

Azira watches him falling asleep, before laying back beside him.

“I just got back from Rome a month ago. Never talked about it with anyone actually. Some didn’t care, some couldn’t understand.” He gives Crowley a quick look. “And you are sleeping, so hopefully won’t indeed remember a word out of it.”

Anthony sniffles calmly, so it can be interpreted as confirmation of Az’s words.

“Rome is lovely. It’s sunny, noisy, people appreciate every minute of their lives.” He sighs, still looking for any signs of consciousness. “So, I worked at that gallery, I’m sure you don’t know the one, for six months before they hired new director, Luciano. Long story short, one thing leads to another, one late evening in gallery together, one drink after, and we are going out for almost a year.” He pursues his lip and turns on his right side, now being face to face with Crowley. “It ended badly, as you might have guessed, dear Anthony. One day I lost a friend, a partner. And my job, as a bonus.”

_And I am not doing the same mistake again,_ thinks Azira and closes his eyes. The sleep doesn’t keep him waiting, and shortly there were two calmly sniffing heard in that bedroom.

_(Rome:_

_The coffee is getting cold on the table. The apartment is small, but cozy and the view is stunning, this is the main reason why the price grows bigger every season. The broken vase lays on the floor in a pile of ceramic fragments. In the hallway, there’s a broken mirror and a coat rack, which potentially has caused the damage. Clothes and stocking are trampled on the floor._

_“Azira, sei impossibile!” The man slams his hand on the table and shouts: “Porta le tue cose via e vattene!"_

_“Talk English, dear, it will make it easier for both of us, if I can understand what on earth you want from me!”_

_“Go pack your stuff and leave!” with thick Italian accent, but this time way more calm repeats the man, accompanying it with a wide gesture. ““We are over.”_

_Azira looks at him with wide eyes and blinks, not sure how to proceed. With trembling hands, he takes his winged cup with some herbal tea in it, walks to the sink, turns the water on and stares at it flowing for straight minute. He feels the look on his back, but nothing would make him turn around. His eyes get misty, as he washes the cup. _

_“I will come get the rest of my stuff tomorrow.” Az speaks with the hollow voice. He can feel a huge wave rising inside his chest, he’s about to disappear under it, sink, not being able to bounce back from the bottom. He slowly breathes in and finally turns around. “Luci, we ought to talk about it, you know that. Don’t shut me out now. Don’t make me leave like this.” _

_“We have talked, Azira, if you have somehow forgot the conversation.” Luciano slowly shakes his head and looks away. “We are heading different directions, you don’t want it to get as serious as it already is. And I don’t want to wait for you to be ready.”_

_“It’s not about things getting serious, and you are perfectly aware of it.”_

_“Yes, it’s about the rules!” Luciano gets up and throws hands in the air. “Because making stories and lying to everyone around suits you better than damaging your perfect reputation at gallery!”_

_“It’s not completely true…”_

_“Like anyone cares what bunch of professors think of us!” _

_“I care!”_

_They stare at each other and Azira feels his bottom lip to start trembling, and he couldn’t bare it. Not the sharp disappointed look, not the words the man is about to say, not the truth. But he also can’t just walk away. Not yet, the water is not that deep, there’s still a hope for him._

_“Luci, I didn’t…”_

_“Enough!” he throws the chair across the room in despair. Regrets it the same second, but gets so mad that his hands start to shake. The man is in pain and he uses the last drops of self-control to clench his teeth and speaks: “I’ve heard enough, Az! Please, leave already.”_

_The rest happens in silence: Azira packs his bag, gets stuff from the nightstand, puts on the jacket, stops when hears keys jingling in the pocket, gets them out and puts on the dresser. He sees Luciano at the window, his sloped shoulders, when he walks to the broken chair and lifts it, fiddles it around and sighs. _

There are some things in this world, which simply can’t be fixed,_ thinks Az, shutting the door behind himself. And he hated to confess, but one of such things has just came to an end._

_When he gets to the gallery in the morning (by cab, which he gets outside the hotel), he feels all the looks being pointed out at him. He hurries up to his room through the endless swarm of corridors, and when finally closes the door, sees a white envelope on his desk. _

_No need to open it to know what is inside._

_Word travels fast, especially when someone make sure to spread the news. They knew from the first day, that any romantic involvement was strictly out of the question, and Az suspected it to happen. He just never though it to be the next day._

_He’s allowed to clear his desk without a harry, but is obliged to leave today. Come colleagues get out into the corridor and watch him walking away with concerns looks. But no one says a word._

_The same evening, he buys one-way ticket back to London, which he never visited during last six years. The same weekend he leaves Rome for good, never actually turning back.)_

That night, in something between a nightmare and a drunken blackout, he sees Rome again for the first time. His heart squeezes the same way it did almost a month ago, it breaks once again. And when the nightmare comes to end, he doesn’t wake up. Az just stares in the darkness for a while, before mustering the strength and finally opening his eyes. The room is filled with bright white light, which means it’s close to noon. Slowly he makes it through the slight but drastic panic and turns his head to the other side of the bed. The empty side of the bad.

Azira gets up on still wobbly feet, his head is still dizzy, it’s not that far from the last shot yet. He’s definitely still a bit drunk. He walks the corridor, trying to come to his senses.

Maybe it was just a dream? Maybe Anthony never shared a cab with him?

_My dear Lord, the kiss! _Azira freezes in the middle of the room. His heart is trapped in a little cage, like a hummingbird, and it tries to break free, angrily pounding under his ribs. He walks down the stairs, fast-forwarding the bleached tape of his memory back and forth, trying to find the missing pieces.

When he enters the kitchen, it’s only two people at the table, so the huge sigh of relief comes out.

So, Anthony had a chance to sneak out before his parents noticed him. Tris definitely talked to dad about the guest, but one thing is to hear, and a completely different – get a chance to meet.

And that would be a disaster.

“Darling, you are finally up!” Tris gets up and turns on the toaster with two slices of bread prepared beforehand. She pours a cup of green tea and puts the cup at the only place available. “Join us.”

“Good morning, dad.” Az sits down in front of the man, too occupied with his newspaper to pay any attention to the half-drunk and half-stunned offspring, and takes a cup to his mouth.

The tea is freaking hot, but he needs an excuse to keep it silent.

“We didn’t want to wake you up, hon.” Tris takes a napkin and casually wipes off her mouth with a bright lipstick on, eyes fixed on Az’s dad. “What a shame, that you missed the first family breakfast with Anthony.” She giggles and adds, before Azira can process the previous message. “What a lovely young man, Greg, isn’t he?”

“Such a nice gentleman.” Nods Gregory while slowly putting down the newspaper, eyes stuck on Az.

_Lord, give me strength_, thinks Azira, drinking the boiling hot tea and burning everything inside – the tongue, the throat, wishing the rushing heart would burn to ashes too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's how I imagine Crowley:  
https://66.media.tumblr.com/010eb63068ec88fc46a1d38fa3dac63f/tumblr_pt5ecawhs81tl75hb_1280.png
> 
> The painting on Az's wall is this one:  
https://www.wikiart.org/en/ivan-aivazovsky/hurricane-at-the-sea-1850
> 
> Az's house (if you want to imagine):  
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c2/c3/b7/c2c3b75f2090acb0c5b7228cf8557da4.jpg


End file.
